


A Continent Away

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [161]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-13
Updated: 2010-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sightseeing in San Francisco before Quinn's lecture at Berkeley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Continent Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sue_chose_this](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sue_chose_this/gifts), [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Nerowill, Emila-Wan, and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting  
> My former betas: Alex, Ula, and Padawan Sue
> 
> Thanks to Master Elayna and Lori for their 'California' betas.  
>   
> References, courtesy of Wikipedia:  
> [San Francisco travel guide](http://wikitravel.org/en/San_Francisco)  
> [Alfred Edward Housman](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfred_Edward_Housman)  
> [M. R. James](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M._R._James)  
> 

The first thing Ian noticed about Berkeley was its topography -- hills popped up everywhere around them. Turning to Quinn, he said, "Perfect for our workouts." He got a map of The University of California -- Berkeley from his pocket, hoisted his duffel, then led the way towards the entrance of its expansive grounds, only two blocks from the BART train station but all uphill.  
  
They had booked a room in a hotel right off campus, since Quinn was giving a lecture there in two days. The English Department hosted a Wednesday morning series of talks on the lives of British poets, and the coordinator of the program had invited Quinn to lecture on A.E. Housman.  
  
When Quinn followed Ian inside the gates, his mind was irresistibly drawn to the symposium which had given him his laddie. Each time they had traveled to a conference through the years since then, he marveled at how lucky he had been to find the love of his life in his workaday world, when he'd least expected it.  
  
They took a shortcut over the lawn, where clusters of students were relaxing after a day of classes. A young man came up to them, his hair matching the Day-Glo green leaflet he pressed into Quinn's hand, while he chanted his opposition to "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" as they passed by.  
  
Quinn glanced down at the paper -- a protest rally against DADT was being held at noon on Thursday. "A pity we'll be back home by then; I'd have liked to be there." He waited until they were well away to put the paper in a recycle bin.  
  
Ian nodded soberly. "I hope there's a huge turnout."  
  
Surprised by the sound of drums, they saw a group of students pounding away on bongos, fierce joy on their faces as they played in the twilight. The professors walked on through the grounds, surrounded by white buildings and mature trees. Ian squinted in the low light when he read the map to find their way to the hotel. Dusk was mellowing the landscape around them as they wandered up unfamiliar pathways. They finally found their hotel tucked away in a quiet corner just off campus.  
  
A rambling two-story building was waiting for them in a park-like setting. The student at the reception desk had just hung up after a phone call. Quinn checked in, confirming that they could stay until the early afternoon on Wednesday, without being charged for an extra day. And the rate was low already, about 75 dollars less per night than a comparable hotel in San Francisco. He was being reimbursed for one night here, as well as $300 towards his flight, as part of the honorarium for his lecture.  
  
Their room turned out to be on the ground floor, in a quiet corner of the hotel, as well. The walls, carpet, bedspread, and curtains were done in varying shades of green. Simple furnishings greeted them -- a king-sized bed, two nightstands, one desk, and a dresser with a T.V. on top of it. The bed, in particular, looked very good after all the hassles of getting there.  
  
Since they'd awakened at six in the morning to make their plane at JFK, then a connecting flight out of Chicago, they were exhausted, even though it was only a bit after eight o'clock local time. After all, it was past 11 now at home. At least the interminable layover had saved them hundreds of dollars compared to a direct flight.  
  
They'd had an argument over the booking; using the honorarium as a bargaining chip, Ian had wanted to buy first-class tickets for Quinn on all their flights, while he sat in coach, contending that Quinn just wasn't made for the narrow confines and cramped legroom of the cheap seats. Quinn had countered that paying for first-class would squander the money they'd saved by their stopover. He'd won the day as usual, Ian still having much to learn about the art of negotiation.  
  
"Besides, I'm sure you'll make it up to me with a massage," Quinn had said with a wink.  
  
And sure enough, Ian could see by the way Quinn was standing that he had stiffened up from the flight.  
  
Dropping their duffels by the door, then their wallets and key-cards on the desk, they folded the bedspread down. Then they threw their shirts on a chair, toed their sneakers off, and fell into bed, Ian immediately reaching out to massage Quinn's back, his professional skill leavened by the loving warmth of his touch.  
  
Quinn all but purred under Ian's strong hands as he spread out over the bed. "Mmm. Feels so good, lad. Thank you."  
  
"My pleasure," Ian whispered, his breath teasing the little hairs by Quinn's ear.  
  
"And mine," said Quinn into his pillow. He could feel his laddie smile into his sideburn.  
  
Ian murmured, "At least you're not brooding over Artoo and Sandy anymore."  
  
"It was nice of Mrs. Chang to call and let us know everything's okay." Quinn's yawn nearly swallowed up his words.  
  
Ian chuckled; he was the only one who could interpret his husband's yawning language. "I know. With Prudence on the warpath, I was worried about a hostile takeover of our home by Ozzie and Harriet by the time we got back."  
  
Quinn tried to smile at Ian's dry tone, but he heard the ache beneath the words and couldn't quite manage it. "At least Violet's back on her feet. I saw her walking to the mailbox when I was driving to work yesterday."  
  
"That's good news," Ian said, more cheerful now.  
  
Quinn nodded. "I waved to her and she waved back with a big smile. Perhaps she'll come over to visit us, after all."  
  
Ian kept up his massage. "Well, she and the Changs are friendly, so maybe Mrs. Chang will put in a good word for us."  
  
"I'm glad Sandy and Artoo are staying next door this time. They get lonely if we're gone too long, even when Han comes over to feed them." Quinn already felt more relaxed, thanks to Ian's gifted hands.  
  
Ian's yawn, a real jawcracker, put an end to their conversation. Arms finding each other from years of experience, they were asleep in minutes. They napped away more than an hour, helped by the darkness outside.  
  
Ian stirred first, as the unfamiliar sounds of hotel plumbing intruded into his dream of flying, when someone started a shower next door. He found himself lying on Quinn's chest, his cheek sweaty against his husband's warm skin. He couldn't resist giving Quinn's nipple a little kiss, even though it might wake him.  
  
As indeed it did. Sleepy blue eyes crinkled a smile at him. "Mmmm. Even better than my dream," he said, voice husky from sleep and the first tingle of desire.  
  
"What'd you dream about, handsome?" Ian asked, rubbing his cheek over the nipple he'd kissed.  
  
Quinn smiled reminiscently. "I dreamed about sunset on the beach at Charlotte Amalie, with my laddie by my side."  
  
"Those aqua trunks did fit you like a dream," Ian teased.  
  
"And they were much easier to get off than these jeans." Quinn was already starting to undress him, easing his zipper down over a cock just beginning to take an interest in the proceedings.  
  
Ian grinned and returned the favor on Quinn's jeans. "Don't worry. It's worth e-v-e-r-y inch of extra effort." The zipper came down in sync with Ian's voice. He couldn't resist brushing his fingers over his herven's stirring cock, evoking a happy sigh from Quinn.  
  
They kicked off their jeans impatiently, eager to feel more of each other. Sweat stuck their grey boxer-briefs to their skin as they peeled them down and off. It was a toss-up now. Who would make the first move?  
  
Quinn pushed his leg between Ian's, pressing his thigh into his laddie's cock. Ah, the warmth of it soaked right into his skin. He relished the shudder Ian gave him, closing his eyes as he felt Ian hardening against him.  
  
"Oh, yeah," Ian muttered into Quinn's neck, nose tickled by the fur at his nape.  
  
"Like that, d'ya, lad?" Quinn said, keeping the pressure up, a feral grin on his face that Ian could feel but not see.  
  
"Unh-huh." Ian curled deeper into him. After a bit more of Quinn's delicious nudging, Ian captured his free hand, leaving Quinn to lean on his right elbow. "Wanna feel you," he breathed, anticipation running hotter than ball lightning.  
  
Quinn moved his knee out of the way, so his hand could have room to play. He cupped Ian's testicles, savoring their pendulous weight against his palm. Sliding his forefinger firmly down Ian's erection, he delighted in the heat of the skin under his own. It felt impossibly good, even through his callus.  
  
"Love your fingers," Ian whispered, purring at Quinn's blend of rough and gentle loving.  
  
"I know." Quinn smiled fiercely and grabbed Ian's cock in an authoritative grip which satisfied both of them. The beloved skin all but steaming under his hand was Quinn's own private preserve on which to play, to tease, to torment, to sate. He slid his hand over increasingly taut flesh, craving the feel of it...  
  
...just as Ian was craving the feel of his hand. "Yeah, jus' like that," Ian barely got out. He thrust up into a tunnel of thick fingers, Quinn's sweat and his own pre-come easing the way.  
  
Quinn crooned, "My sexy lad. You're at your hottest just like this, straining up at me, ready to explode in my hand."  
  
The incendiary combination of Quinn's words and his caresses left Ian shaking with need. He let his eyes do the pleading for him, knowing that Quinn could never resist him.  
  
And he was right. Quinn dove in to give him a thorough kiss, wet and wild. That, and the exquisite squeeze he gave to the tip of Ian's erection, the foreskin almost as rigid as a cock ring under his touch, was too much for Ian. "Yeahohyeahohyeah!" He came into Quinn's hand, with a low grunt that went straight to Quinn's cock.  
  
Quinn raised his hand to his lips and licked it, hardening further at the taste of Ian he always craved.  
  
Ian just looked at him in bliss for a moment, then reached for Quinn, wanting to give him everything. Sliding his hand along Quinn's, he picked up most of his own cream. He got on his elbow, pushing Quinn down to lie beside him.  
  
Quinn eagerly complied, looking forward to the second course. He closed his eyes when Ian spread his come over his neglected cock, mixing it with with his own pre-come in their favorite combination.  
  
Ian knew every spot to hit to bring Quinn to rock-hardness in moments. Then he bent down to drink the delicious blend on his favorite swizzle stick. Quinn's groans seemed even louder than his had been, but he knew that was probably only from a certain point of view.  
  
Quinn shivered at the feel of Ian licking and suckling him. "Laddie!" Ian smiled around his cock, giving him a new kind of stimulation, and that was it. He flooded Ian's mouth with semen in happy bursts, then flopped back onto the sheet.  
  
Despite the coolness of their room, they were too overheated to snuggle. So they just relaxed for a while, until another kind of hunger got them up. After a quick clean-up, they put on fresh clothes and refilled their pockets, then walked to the restaurant, hoping they could still get a snack so late at night. It turned out that only sandwiches and juices were still available, in a mini-fridge by the entrance. This was perfectly fine with them, since they were just as ravenous from lovemaking as they were from skipping dinner.  
  
Since only two other tables were taken at this hour, they nabbed a prime spot under the ceiling fan and settled back to relax. Quinn sighed when he realized that their sandwiches were basically just salad between two slices of multi-grain bread. They sipped acai berry juice and dug into their meal.  
  
A shredded carrot tickled Ian's nose. "I don't think we'll have to worry about gaining weight on our trip." He grinned over at Quinn.  
  
"Not a chance," said Quinn, hoping he wouldn't lose too much, what with the leafy fare and the walking they planned to do.  
  
"Tomorrow we've got the whole day free. Let's explore the Bay Area." Ian took a swig of his juice.  
  
Quinn nodded. "I'm looking forward to it."  
  
"I've always wanted to ride on a trolley; Ray Bradbury made it sound a treat." Ian's eyes gleamed even in the dim light of the restaurant.  
  
"Much better than our campus bus, that's for sure," Quinn teased. "And, knowing you, I bet you have a couple of places you want to visit."  
  
Ian chuckled. "Yeah. My folks enjoyed Fisherman's Wharf, even though it's touristy. Mom said she liked the seafood. And, of course, there's Lombard Street."  
  
"So let's take the train into San Francisco after breakfast tomorrow." Quinn's eyelids were drooping again.  
  
They threw out their unbleached paper plates by the door and strolled back to their room, stopping for brochures by the front desk. Despite their nap, they fell asleep almost as soon as they snuggled into each other, jet lag catching up with them.  
  
When they woke up the next morning, just after 10:30, they felt well-rested for the first time since they'd arrived. They got their stuff together at record speed, wanting to spend as many hours in San Francisco as possible. Luckily, they'd chosen to pack cargo shorts, which had room for everything they needed. Deciding not to waste time on a full breakfast, they headed over to a nearby organic grocery store for some raspberry oat bars and ate them while walking to the nearest BART station at Shattuck Avenue.  
  
They decided to get off at the Embarcadero station, which Ian had learned was a hub of sightseeing, what with the streetcar turnaround a few yards away and the Ferry Terminal down the next block. When they got off the train, sunshine and a steady wind greeted them. The sun beat down on them unrelentingly; there wasn't a cloud in the sky. They'd been warned about this by Jo, so they knew to slather on sunscreen. Quinn was glad they'd worn sunglasses with their t-shirts and shorts.  
  
He handed Ian the Clone Wars cap they'd gotten while staying at the Chateau Frontenac, with a wink and a "Ready, General?" as he put on his own.  
  
Ian winked back and set the cap on his head at a rakish angle.  
  
Luckily, the temperature was in the 60s, with cool bay breezes, so the natural air conditioning offset the blazing sun. They followed the stream of tourists to Fisherman's Wharf, where they had a pleasant choice of places to have lunch.  
  
They picked The Captain's Wheel for its beautiful quayside views. There was a wait for tables, which they spent sitting dockside, taking pictures of themselves and the pier. Eventually, they were called in by the hostess over a loudspeaker, who led them to a blue and cream booth with a window looking out on the harbor. The menu was more like a book, reminiscent of the diners surrounding Padua. The salmon piccata caught their eye, a fusion of their love of seafood and their favorite Italian cuisine.  
  
Their white-haired server brought two glasses of water, along with crusty black bread and herb-infused olive oil to the table. They dipped into it eagerly, already hungry after their skimpy breakfast on the go.  
  
"Wonder how Case is getting along without us?" Ian asked, before taking a bite.  
  
Quinn chuckled. "He's probably deputizing Eth and Evan at this very moment."  
  
"Sounds about right," Ian snorted. "At least he won't bother us unless we answer his calls or e-mails."  
  
"And I for one am not turning on my laptop until Thursday." Quinn smiled in satisfaction.  
  
"Exactly." Ian grinned up at him. "After all, if you can't get a little off-duty time a continent away, when can you go for it?"  
  
Their lobster bisque came next, a splash of sherry enhancing its taste. And a bit of slurping enhanced their grins. Seven years in, and utterly secure, they felt free to relax their manners a little.  
  
A flock of egrets flew in, screeching their welcome to the tourists on the pier, only a few yards away from their window. One fine fellow perched on a dock piling, letting Quinn admire his plumage.  
  
"Why do I have a feeling you're a distant descendant of John Muir?" Ian teased.  
  
"Actually, laddie, you're more likely to be related to him, what with your Scottish heritage."  
  
Ian groaned into his soup. "Try as you might, you'll never beat me at wordplay."  
  
"Overconfidence is always a mistake, young man," Quinn admonished, tongue firmly in cheek.  
  
Their elderly waiter chose that moment to bring their entrees, smiling at Quinn as he set their plates down, clearly approving of his last comment, without knowing the context.  
  
The salmon tasted as fresh as if it had been swimming that very afternoon. And it still was swimming, in a piccata sauce with just the right blend of lemon and herbs. The chef had added a welcome splash of sauvignon blanc, as well. Gnocchi asiago filled up the remainder of the plate.  
  
They set to with gusto, Quinn wryly reflecting that he might not lose weight on their travels, after all. And he couldn't find it in himself to care, not when the food was as good as this.  
  
Ian seemed to agree, judging by the blissful look on his face and the inroads he'd already made in his dish.  
  
Quinn patted his stomach and said, "Let's not bother with dessert -- Ghirardelli Square is right across the street."  
  
"And up another hill," Ian added mischievously. "Sounds good. Then let's take the ferry. It's a nice way to sight-see. There's a station at the pier here."  
  
After they finished, Ian paid with his MasterGuard, already looking forward to the chocolate treats ahead.  
  
Ambling up the hill and over to the store, lazy after such a good meal, they looked around a bit before deciding on dark chocolate filled with mint cream. Just the refreshing taste they needed about now, and it tasted even fresher than the packets available at their local supermarket. Ian saw that some chocolate had melted on Quinn's thumb and tried to resist sucking it off. Quinn didn't help matters by catching Ian's eye while he himself did the honors.  
  
Walking back towards the pier to the ferry station, they hurried to join the crowd waiting for the next boat. They stood by the rail on the starboard side, drinking in all of the unfamiliar sights around them. San Francisco from the water was even more delightful than on foot. Sparkling blue waves, the green of parkland, the glint of sun in skyscraper windows -- the view enthralled them. The Presidio still seemed to protect the city, after all these years. The soaring lines of the Golden Gate Bridge hung suspended over blue water and bluer sky. As Quinn's summer-long hair streamed in the breeze, Ian was even more enthralled, grateful that his negotiating skill had kept Quinn from cutting it until August.  
  
Quinn relaxed into the dug-dug sound of the ferry, so different from the huge engines on a cruise ship. His hand came down on Ian's shoulder, contentedly sharing this moment with his lad. "They have some pleasant ways to get to work here -- the ferries, the cable cars, the water taxis."  
  
"Sometimes I daydream about living out here. Not only is it the epicenter of gay culture, but it's beautiful and the climate is ideal."  
  
Quinn nodded. "I've thought about it, too." He looked out at the dazzling blue water around them.  
  
"But back to reality -- we have tenure, and in this economy, that's everything," Ian said wryly. "And have you seen the price of real estate here? We can't even afford a condo!"  
  
"Well, we both love Luke. Even though I enjoy giving lectures at other universities, I couldn't imagine teaching anywhere else." Quinn smiled down at him. "Besides, what would Case do without us?"  
  
Ian grinned back. "He's barely hanging on for just these couple of days."  
  
When they got off the ferry, they felt like stretching their legs. Since the sea lions no longer visited Pier 39, they contented themselves with a stroll around the aquarium there, with Quinn especially enjoying some of the exotic sea creatures. Unfamiliar aquatic plantlife and beautiful coral made an exotic environment for scores of brilliantly colored fish to swim in.  
  
When they'd seen their fill, Ian found Lombard Street and they walked uphill, delighting in the twists and turns of the road. Well-kept Victorian gingerbread cottages lined the lane, reminding them of The Wayfarers Inn. An ice cream shop drew them in when they were starting to get a bit sweaty, despite the ideal climate. The plain frozen yogurt intrigued them; it wasn't available in their area.  
  
They took their biodegradable cups and sat outside in the shade. There was an amazing amount of foot traffic, and the shops around them were thriving. The afternoon breeze brought them back to cool just as surely as the yogurt.  
  
"So nice not to have all that sugar in here," said Ian, waving his spoon.  
  
Quinn crossed spoons with him, the green and blue catching the afternoon light. "It tastes better, too. Yogurt should be tart, not sweet."  
  
Catching Quinn's eye, Ian darted his spoon into his husband's cup and into his own mouth, mischief in every move.  
  
"Ah, tradition." Quinn's voice was warm, despite the coolness of his mouth, as he fondly recalled that Ian had done the very same thing on their first real date in Mossley.  
  
Ian beamed at him, thrilled to see that Quinn valued their shared romantic history just as much as he did.  
  
After they'd finished their yogurt, they wandered into a few inviting shops, looking for something for Lelia. When Quinn found a miniature trolley car, he showed to Ian, and they bought it right away. The clerk wrapped it for them, after adding a surcharge for the festive green paper and bow, as well as for shipping to New York.  
  
The walk back down Lombard Street was gentler, of course, as well as cooler, thanks to their treat. They felt indescribably free as they strolled hand in hand -- surrounded by pairs of women, mixed pairs, and pairs of men -- the most natural thing in the world. They walked this way at home sometimes, too, but never with such a stream of others sharing their bond.  
  
Luckily for them, there were cable cars nearby, so they could relax after all their trekking. They hopped aboard at Embarcadero, one of Quinn's long legs hanging off the side when he hunched down to fit under the awning as they grabbed onto the outside poles. Luckily, the trolley ran along its own tracks, so the passing cars were in their own lane well away from them. Ian felt almost as much wind on his face now as he had on the ferry.  
  
They were reluctant to get off but wanted to visit Chinatown for dinner. As they ambled along the brightly colored shops, alive with the chatter of tourists and the tinkling of windchimes, they started to get hungry again. Exotic spices filled the air as they tried to decide where to eat. When they saw that the menu of a restaurant on Broadway included four full pages of dim sum delights, their decision was made.  
  
The interior was cool and spacious, with lovely laquered tables and chairs. Their booth was next to a miniature fountain, which became part of their conversation. Dinner started with a traditional tea service, in which they took the cue from their servers and bowed to them and to each other.  
  
They ordered a feast -- a dim sum assortment, scallion pancakes, orange shrimp with water chestnuts, and pistachio ice cream -- then sat back to enjoy their tea. Quinn broke out the chopsticks, in an ambitious attempt to go native. Ian grinned in anticipation; he was looking forward to seeing the show Quinn would put on for him. Meanwhile, he kept his fork close to hand.  
  
Quinn did a surprisingly good job of mastering the sticks; all the dim sum went into his mouth, with no spills to his plate. As always, the best-tasting dumplings had the most complex combination of flavors and spice. When he was picking up his fifth piece, Ian smiled at him between bites.  
  
"They should've cast you in TPM. Looks like you would've given Darth Maul a run for his money," Ian said, eyes shining.  
  
Quinn groaned. "I can just hear your quips if we'd chosen Benihana's."  
  
Ian laughed. "You don't travel cross-country to eat at a chain restaurant," he said, quirking a grin.  
  
The scallion pancakes were next -- flat, crispy, and delicious. They were also child's play for Quinn to pick up with his newly acquired skill.  
  
"I love scallions; they're the only type of onion I can eat without having an aftertaste all day." Still, Ian drank more tea during this course than the one before.  
  
Then their entree came -- jumbo shrimp coated in batter, aswim in a hot pepper-citrus sauce with vegetables. After laying down a bed of rice, they took heaping portions from the serving plate.  
  
"Mmm. Much better than we get at home." Quinn captured a piece of bok choy.  
  
"I'll say. We've got to go into the city and try out some places with Kathy and Monty." Ian added some hot mustard to his sauce. "They've been raving about this new little bistro in the Village."  
  
Quinn took a sip of tea. "Let's try to make time next weekend. Maybe we'll catch a show first."  
  
"Sounds good. I don't think they've seen "Everyday Rapture" yet." Ian went for his water. The mustard was wonderful but hotter than he'd ever tasted.  
  
"I'm already looking forward to it." Quinn frowned down at his empty plate.  
  
Ian gave his last few shrimp to Quinn, happily indulging his husband's big appetite, and got a broad smile in return.  
  
By the time the ice cream came, they craved its soothing creaminess in their mouths after the fiery food. Fortune cookies were on the tray with their bill, which Quinn paid this time.  
  
He handed one to Ian. "Go for it," he said indulgently.  
  
Ian cracked open the cookie and read his fortune strip aloud:  
  
"You will meet a tall, handsome stranger."  
  
If he hadn't been sitting down, Ian would have fallen over laughing. "Exactly right -- just seven years late."  
  
Quinn chortled as Ian handed him the other cookie and read his fortune to Ian in turn:  
  
"You will travel to a faraway place."  
  
Quinn groaned. "I hope these cookies aren't as old as the fortunes," he said in a low, conspiratorial voice.  
  
Still smiling as they left the restaurant, they made for the nearest BART station, exhausted after a full day of fun. Dropping into his seat in relief, Ian thought nothing of resting his head on Quinn's shoulder in this accepting environment. Already half asleep, they dragged on over to their hotel room, where Ian barely remembered to hang the 'Do not disturb' sign on the door. They put their key-cards, wallets, and the digital camera on the desk, then threw the detritus of their trip -- punched and stamped tickets, along with cash receipts -- onto the dresser.  
  
They were almost as tired now as they'd been from jet lag last night. Ian forced himself to phone for a wake-up call while he was still coherent, then started undressing. Leaving their clothes in heaps on the carpet, they crawled into bed with mumbled "G'nights" and curled into each other to sleep.  
  
Quinn was awakened by a shaft of sunlight in his eye, which had found its way in through a crack in the curtains. He answered the automated call on the first ring, hoping that Ian wouldn't hear it. While Ian was sleeping, Quinn showered, then reviewed the notes for his Housman lecture.  
  
At 8:45, Quinn woke Ian with a kiss, knowing that his lad needed to clean up before breakfast. They stepped out the door at 9:15, impeccably dressed in their jacket and tie uniforms, and headed for the hotel restaurant. Already used to the mostly vegetarian cuisine there, they ordered fruit shakes and banana nut muffins.  
  
"Ready for your lecture?" Ian asked between sips.  
  
Quinn nodded. "I looked over my notes while you slept. Have you found out where Wheeler Hall is?"  
  
"Mmm-hmm. It's about five hills thataway." Ian grinned into his juice as he pointed to the west.  
  
"Well, we'd better get going, then. I want to start my talk at 10 sharp." Quinn looked around for their server, so he could sign for their food, adding it to their hotel bill.  
  
With the help of signs, they found the building and the department secretary fairly easily. She directed them to a classroom on the second floor, with student desks grouped in a semi-circle. A few professors were already there, sipping coffee and chatting. A lovely woman in her 30s detached herself from the rest and came up to them to introduce herself as Dee Pabilla, coordinator of the lecture series. More people streamed in while they made small talk.  
  
Quinn took his coffee to the podium, checking his watch in satisfaction as his talk started at 10 o'clock on the dot. The subject was the poet A.E. Housman and his formative influences. His unrequited love for a college roommate lasted his whole life through, and infused his poetry with a longing and bittersweet ache that still resonated to this day. Housman was a classical scholar of Greek and Latin, while M.R. James, his contemporary at Cambridge, specialized in medieval religious texts. As Quinn showed, it was a pity they'd never connected, since they had so much in common, both in their erudition and their decision to remain lifelong bachelors. Quinn interspersed his talk with quotations from "A Shropshire Lad" and Housman's private letters, and gave his audience a different perspective on the elusive scholar/poet.  
  
When Quinn quoted two of the most famous lines from "A Shropshire Lad," Ian could not repress a shiver, both at Quinn's melodious voice and the import of Housman's words:  
  
"Others, I am not the first,  
have willed more mischief than they durst."  
  
It didn't help that Quinn was looking straight at him as he spoke. Somehow, it seemed like a commentary on Quinn's own lonely past, before they'd met.  
  
Ian was gratified to join in the rousing applause when Quinn had finished, and his sparkling eyes were the real reward for Quinn.  
  
Afterwards, small sandwiches, pastries, and more coffee were brought in for lunch, while Quinn and Ian chatted with Dee and one of her colleagues as they stood on line. They ate with their new acquaintances, who flanked them at their student desks. After a while, people started leaving to go to their classes, many stopping by to tell Quinn how much they'd enjoyed his lecture. He and Ian said their goodbyes when the next period began and headed back to the hotel.  
  
Checking the time quickly, to make sure they wouldn't miss their plane, Ian pounced on Quinn as soon as he'd locked the door and hung the 'Do not disturb' sign back on the knob. "That was an inspiring lecture, Professor. But all that unrequited longing needs a resolution." He punctuated his statement with a sweet kiss.  
  
"And I'm just the man to provide it," Quinn said, fire kindling in those blue, blue eyes. Wasting no time on finesse, he stripped Ian of his jacket and tie, just loosening the knot enough for it to slip over his laddie's head.  
  
Ian did the same for him, then started in on his shirt. When they were bare to the waist, he hugged Quinn to him, eager for skin on skin. "I've dreamed of being in your class before, but I couldn't have borne it. I want you to speak only to me, and y'can feel just where your words go." He pressed his erection, covered by layers of fabric, into Quinn's right thigh.  
  
"Oh, laddie," Quinn said in a guttural voice, which no one but Ian would have recognized. Ian's heat seared right through the cloth, almost as if it weren't there. Quinn kissed him with a passion that had been steadily building, not only throughout their trip, but for all their seven years together. He closed his eyes, drawing on years of discipline, while he tried not to come on the spot. "Slacks off, now," he growled.  
  
As soon as these and their boxer-briefs were kicked to the carpet, Quinn pushed Ian onto the bed, then into the mattress as he got on top of him, barely remembering to take some weight on his arms.  
  
"I love you," Ian said, tender and desperate.  
  
"I love you," Quinn answered, lust and love boiling through him. He thrust blindly into Ian's thigh, knowing only that he had to be as close to Ian as he could get.  
  
Ian squirmed beneath him to align their cocks for a hot ride, which just got better and better when their pre-come mixed explosively. Far from dampening the heat, their mingled juices only increased it.  
  
Quinn grunted his passion into Ian's mouth, the slide of their tongues echoing the slide of their cocks and testicles alongside each other.  
  
When Ian's hands smoothed down Quinn's back, they were drawn inexorably to his buttocks, entranced by the flex of muscles as Quinn thrust against him. He cupped them with his palms, pulling Quinn even further into the dance.  
  
Those palms might as well have been stroking his cock. Quinn groaned as he climaxed onto Ian's stomach, groin, and thighs.  
  
Bathed in Quinn's semen, Ian came with a hoarse cry. Reflexes gone for the moment, he wasn't fast enough to stop Quinn from rolling off him, ever considerate.  
  
They petted each other down from their high, marinating in the scent of sweat and semen.  
  
"Are you sure we have to be back at work tomorrow? I could get used to this," Ian said with a lazy grin.  
  
Quinn relaxed into the sheet. "Live in the moment, lad. We're still a continent away."


End file.
